A Year in the Court of Misthaven
by TutorGirlml
Summary: An AU set of Lieutenant Duckling vignettes taking place over the course of a year; set in an Enchanted Forest where Regina never cast the curse, Emma grew up as the Princess she would have been, and fell in love with a bright and promising young naval lieutenant...
1. At the Yule Ball

_~A Year in the Court of Misthaven~_

Part I: "At the Yule Ball"

 _{Enchanted Forest, Lieutenant Duckling AU ~ Regina never cast the curse sending them all to Storybrooke, Emma was raised by Charming and Snow as a Princess, with Killian as a young lieutenant in the Royal Navy whom Emma has grown up with – and grown to love…}_

Crackling flames in the large, stone fireplace fought back the chill winter air in the cavernous open ballroom of Queen Snow White and Prince Charming's castle at the heart of Misthaven. Though a breathtakingly lovely kingdom of generally mild and steady climate, the true winter months boasted their fair share of bitterly chill winds and thickly falling snow, and the afternoon of Christmas Eve was turning out true to its season.

All around the stately chamber, the Queen was busily putting the finishing touches on decorations throughout the long space from one end to the other, with the help of several maids and butlers, when her daughter, Princess Emma, joined her. Several large fir trees had been brought into the room and decorated, each with various colored bows and balls and candles, and were scenting the air with a crisp pine odor. Snow White herself balanced atop a ladder, stretching on her tiptoes to attach garland in evenly spaced festoons along the walls and arches. However, the quiet and tentative way her daughter Princess Emma entered the room and watched, biting her lip in wistful deep thought caused Snow to come back down the ladder and over to her no-longer-so-little girl to see what was troubling her. Lying a gentle hand on Emma's shoulder, her mother inclined her dark head with curious concern, hoping to read her beautiful young lady's thoughts and mind simply by peering into her clouded green eyes. She had a fairly strong suspicion she knew exactly what her daughter's dilemma was already, but Emma had always been stubbornly, fiercely private, and even with her mother, it took a bit of persuasion for the princess to share. "What is it, Sweetie?" Snow kept her voice soft and light, though no one else seemed to register that she had spoken at all, and her tone inviting – though she hopes not too overtly curious.

"Are you sure you have time, Mama?" Emma asked in return. Her eyes rose from where she fidgeted, lacing and unlacing her fingers, only briefly before skating away to various other spaces in the room. Though she was twenty-one years old, Emma still sought her mother's favor, her good heart aiming to please and someday prove herself as fair, dedicated, and successful a ruler of her people as her parents have been.

However, Snow White was not about to let her baby girl suffer in silence if there were some way she could ease what concerned her child. Quick to say as much, she soothed Emma's reluctance. "Of course I do! You're my daughter, Emma. I only have these garlands yet, and decorations for the ball tonight will be complete."

"Oh!" Emma exclaimed, her eyes brightening to twinkle playfully and glancing up quickly once more at what her mother had already done, "if that's all you need…" She flourished her hand with a little whoosh of air and the garland was all perfectly arranged and strung with a second's burst of magic. She turned back to Snow with a pleased smile stretching her lips, anxiously awaiting her mother's response.

The Queen wanted to remind her princess daughter that they have spoken before on her using her magical abilities frivolously – and especially in front of others when so many mistrust it – but at the satisfied smile on Emma's face, and how much happier her daughter seemed than she had for days, Snow bit her tongue to hold back the correction and calmly thanked Emma for her help instead. "Well, that certainly saves me some time spent wobbling around on a ladder," she managed gratefully. Snow studiously forced herself to put out of mind the fright some of Emma's magic usages had given herself and Charming over the years; like the Christmas when six-year-old Emma had perfectly lit the tree at a clap of her hands and they had discovered her powers in the first place, or the time when 10-year-old Emma had keeled over from exhaustion after putting out a sudden kitchen fire before any of the cooks or scullery maids could be hurt.

Emma nodded, then took her mother's hand and pulled Snow to sit by the fire. "There is something on my mind, Mama," she offered at last, returning to their previous topic of conversation. "It isn't really anything to trouble anyone else over. I know it can't be helped." She sighed, looking down at their joined hands in her lap, to which Snow gave her fingers a gentle squeeze and patted her daughter on the knee comfortingly. "I just…" Emma tried before trailing off helplessly.

"You merely wish your lieutenant were here for the Yule Ball tonight," Snow supplied knowingly, her mother's intuition more certain than ever that she was right. Her eyes narrowed to study her daughter's face, but there was a mischievous twinkle in her gaze despite the careful scrutiny.

Emma's eyes flew up to meet her mother's in shock. "How did you know that?"

Snow winked conspiratorially at her daughter, smiling to let Emma know she understood her pain and could commiserate with being separated from the object of one's affection. "Sweetie, you forget that I was young once too. Your father and I would be blind not to have seen the way Lieutenant Jones looks at you with such devotion, the way your eyes brighten whenever he manages to slip a letter for you into the progress reports his brother sends from their ship. I have seen the way you two have always understood each other – even when playing together as children. Now that you are both of age, I see the way you both slip away discreetly to speak in private whenever you gain a chance…and I know that you have not seriously considered the marriage suits of any other princes or officers."

When Snow paused, her daughter did at least have the good grace to look chagrined and to blush prettily at how easily her secret had been figured out, but she didn't deny any of the Queen's observations.

"Beyond all of that," Snow continued, "you must know from your father's and my story that I understand exactly what it is like to have circumstances keep you from someone you care for desperately, how much you miss them and ache to see them, every second you are apart."

"If only Papa's scouting mission could have waited until the New Year…or if the mission could have been completed by now. Killian is so set on his 'good form' as he calls it…on proving himself worthy to ask for my hand…when he is already the best man I know! All I really wanted for Christmas was to have him here to dance with me in my first Yule Ball waltz as an eligible young woman…"

Emma blinked rapidly, her chin trembling as she forced herself not to cry over something she felt frivolous. Her mother leaned in, her forehead resting against Emma's, smiling gently before she sat back up and chucked her daughter under the chin. "Keep hope, Emma," she murmured before leading her daughter to the stairs they both needed to ascend to start getting ready for the evening's festivities in their respective rooms. "You never know when you might receive a holiday miracle."

~~~~000~~~~~000~~~~~~000~~~~~~~000~~~~~~~000~~~~000~~~

Some hours later, Emma stood at the railing of her private chamber's balcony, looking out over the starlit sky and restless dark ocean waves spread before her, just before the ball was to commence. She wished she could see the sails of Killian's ship returning; or if nothing else, that he could hear her words as she whispered her love into the wind. However, her sailor was not present, and wishing would sadly not make it so. Duty and honor hold high place in this world she lived in, had grown up in; being born royal and the weight of responsibility along with the privilege made that clearer to Emma than most. She must make the most of the ball and the holiday for her parents, loved ones and friends. There would be others – others which she could hopefully spend with the man she loves. She only desired his safe return, so she might finally say the words out loud and he would finally feel he could pledge his troth. Then they could make their love known at last.

Smoothing the ball gown she'd had made in the hopes of seeing Killian's reaction to it, Emma sighed, but then squared her shoulders and affixed a smile. It was still Christmas, and even if her sailor's absence put a damper on her spirit, she did not truly wish to make her father feel guilty or cause her mother to fret. She loved this dress, their annual Yule celebration, the music, food, and dancing. She could make the best of things, though she hated to think of Killian lonely on some ship in the frigid winds, Christmas Eve passing him by just like any other night. She glanced down once more at the pure white satin of her dress, accented with sparkling, pale blue snowflakes, the same icy-clear hue of his beloved eyes, blew out a breath, and let the memory of his devoted gaze upon her _– with her –_ go along beside as she stepped from her room to the grand staircase.

Upon reaching the head of the stairs, Emma paused, gazing down at the crowd gathered below and drew in another tight breath meant to steady herself. She might have been born a princess, feeling the weight of the glittering crystal tiara with aquamarine stones perched atop her upswept curls more heavily than usual as she stoically held onto a contented face, trained to carry herself with poise, fully practiced in acting with diplomacy and exuding grace and confidence, but inside she would never love having all eyes on her. She could only too well picture herself tripping and tumbling down the stairs to land in an inelegant sprawl before all their guests. If Killian were here, he would be waiting at the foot of the stairs – as closely as he was allowed – to meet her, gazing up at her and nodding minutely in encouragement, knowing her discomfort and fear without her having to speak or explain. They have practiced sword fighting and archery, horseback riding and tracking together for years. He knew that though she is strong and brave, smart and tough, the idea of parading before judging eyes in a fancy dress and sedate shoes, making only pleasant, correct conversation, is almost beyond the limits of her patience and skill. He understands it (though he is actually quite good at those more sedate skills as well) and only smirks at her squirming in these types of situations, making her want to laugh as well as feel almost immediate relief from the pressure.

She had so dearly looked forward to taking his sturdy, work-calloused hand and letting him escort her into the ball. She had been excited to have him sweep her into his steady arms, off her feet, and into the dance. Instead, she finds her father, King David, as charming as her mama still playfully calls him with a gleam of affection in her eyes, standing at the bottom of her descent, arm out for her to take. Her papa gave her a quietly proud yet gentle smile when she reached him and broke royal reserve and pomp to press a loving kiss to her hairline as she took his arm at his crooked elbow.

"You're doing great, Sweetheart," he whispered, low enough that none of the nobles and guests around them could hear. "You're a vision…beautiful, just like your mother."

Emma dipped her head, a grateful blush coloring her cheeks. "Thank you, Daddy," she replied, not vain, but glad to know her nerves and disappointment weren't showing on the outside.

"Shall we?" her father offered gallantly.

She nodded, and they turned to lead the way into the ball and open the dancing. Normally, that would be he and her mother's first dance, but this year was different. With it being the Yule Ball that marked her passage into adulthood and announced her preparedness as the future queen of Misthaven, Emma had been designated as the one who would open this year's dancing with the very first waltz. She had intended it to be hers and Killian's; one that she had dreamed would begin a night that might even culminate in his at last asking for her hand in marriage. She could still see his flushed fumbling when she had asked him to be her partner and the stutter of embarrassed awe in that usually smooth, flawless voice as he had said that he would be honored, would love nothing more – as long as they returned from their mission in time. He had sailed with his brother and the rest of the Jewel's crew the very next day. Naturally, she would share the waltz with no other eligible young bachelor – could not even bear to try – but instead was in the arms of her papa, the man who had taught her to waltz so long ago.

She beamed up at King David, not merely a ruler of Misthaven at this moment, but also the doting papa who had once let her stand on his feet as he swirled her around the nursery floor, had taught her to duel as well as curtsy, held her up as she learned to float in the lake in summer, and who had never forgotten his plain roots as a shepherd, teaching her that all people were equally important and allowing her to nurture the feelings she felt for her childhood friend, a simple naval officer, when those feelings had blossomed.

David chucked his daughter under the chin, much as his wife had done that afternoon, tilting her face up to his gaze and laughing quietly while they continued their dance. "So, you don't hate me because Jones isn't here to dance with you instead?"

Shaking her head, Emma didn't attempt to deny her earlier disappointment, but she could not imagine being truly angry at her beloved papa for such an inadvertent injury. It had not been his intention to keep her lieutenant away from the event, nor to crush her holiday cheer.

"Good," the King smirked, picking up their steps to whirl in even more large and lively circles, "I'm glad to hear it." Soon the song reached its crescendo and ended with dramatic flourish; Charming swung his daughter out and held her hand steadyingly as they both took a bow to the applause of the gathered dignitaries, other royals, and assorted friends.

Sending her a playful wink as the next song, a faster, jauntier tune began, the King asked his only child, "Do you have one more dance for your father, Emma? I know your mother is anxious to take a spin around the floor, and that you want to go hide somewhere from overzealous suitors who stand no chance and take off your heels…" He eyed her at that, entirely too knowing in Emma's opinion. Yet there was the sparkle of some surprise he had for her, something he was pleased about, and she couldn't deny him. Nodding, Emma allowed her papa to gather her into proper dance hold once more.

Others had since taken to the floor and spun and dipped around them in happy celebration. Her mother's best friend – her godmother, Ruby – danced with the Huntsman – her godfather, Graham, who had at different times saved both her mother's and her father's lives. Ruby batted her eyelashes prettily at Graham, and Emma grinned to see a flush spread across his face and neck. Her "uncle" Grumpy and Nova danced together awkwardly, both looking as embarrassed as they did entranced. One of Grumpy's brothers, her "uncle" Doc, the palace physician, had even convinced Ruby's prickly Granny to join him on the dance floor. The two of them tromped heavy-footed but happy along with the rest of the crowd.

So Emma was distracted at first when her father began to ease them steadily toward the longer, less crowded end of the ballroom where the largest fir tree stood overlooking the celebration and almost taking up the entire wall. Her father's eyes were still glimmering with mischief and love as Emma looked up into his face curiously, realizing that he had a definite plan with the loops he was guiding them in.

To her surprise, they actually danced around the gigantic tree and disappeared behind it, hidden from the rest of the room and its revelers. They paused, and Charming bent to kiss his daughter's forehead, smiling at her softly. "Merry Christmas, Emma," he whispered, then let her go to step aside, allowing someone waiting in the shadows whom she had not even noticed to sweep her up in his arms.

Blinking rapidly in disbelief, "Killian!" was all she could gasp out as she stared, awestruck and drinking in the beloved face she had missed so. Nearly breathless with astounded joy bubbling up in her veins, Emma forgot all propriety and threw her arms around his neck, pulling him much nearer than the dance called for. She simply couldn't help herself. Suddenly, it seemed as though he had been gone for ages, and despite the good face she put on for her parents and guests, now that he stood before her once again within reach, she could not hide her affection, nor keep herself from touching him.

Even as Killian kept them moving seamlessly through the steps of the allemande, he was clearly drinking her in as well. Smiling broadly, a flash of white teeth briefly taunting her, he settled on saying, "Well, my love, did you miss me?"

Emma knew he was teasing her, that just how much she had missed him was written large on every fiber of her being. Lovingly, she stroked a hand down the side of his face, fingers tickled by unshaven beard that had grown since he was with her last, she didn't spare a thought for those who might see the gesture, nor what they might say. "What do you think, Jones?" she murmured in response, a jesting smile of her own quirking up one corner of her mouth.

Chuckling low, he nodded at her words, the sound rumbling in his chest and the vibrations thrilling her as she felt them. There was no denying his happiness at being there for her, his amusement at the surprise he and the King had accomplished, and despite the standards of honor and good form to which he held himself, Emma felt him drawing her closer as well. Killian would never risk opening her up to censure or reproach, would be appalled if anyone could criticize her for her affiliation with him; yet, if she was determined to make her choice known, he certainly would not deny her. It was altogether too wonderful to be back in each other's arms.

As Emma rested her head on Killian's chest, comforted by the sound of his heart thumping in her ear, she snuggled into his embrace and finally felt her holiday complete. Closing her eyes to savor the blissful moment, she smiled at how very right her mother had been; she had received a Yuletide miracle after all.


	2. Part II: New Year's Betrothal

"A New Year's Betrothal"

 _Here is Part Two of my little Enchanted Forest AU set of Lieutenant Duckling stories. This one take places just one day after the Yule Ball, though future installments may have more time pass between them. This is dedicated to Krystal ( kmomof4) who really badly wanted more in this universe and really was the catalyst to get me thinking about it. I had a lot of fun with this, and it's all thanks to you. I really appreciate your feedback and enthusiasm for my writing; hopefully this is a fun bit of a 'Thank You'!_

After Killian's amazing surprise return to her, Princess Emma of Misthaven no longer wanted to waste time. She knew her lieutenant was it for her – and always would be. Not that she had ever harbored much doubt; he had been a fixture in her life since his lady mother's untimely death when he was ten. She had been a part of the castle staff, his older brother Liam already finishing his schooling and looking toward the kingdom's Navy, and with his father long vanished from their family, Queen Snow had suffered no protests or hesitation, but had taken Killian in. He and Emma had grown up together: been tutored side-by-side, trained in swordplay, courtly manners, history, and diplomacy as equals. Killian had simply always been there; almost a sibling, her best friend, and then perhaps not realized by her until he was made lieutenant and they had to be apart, her other half.

The Yule Ball had cemented something for Emma, something she couldn't quite name, but could only hope Killian felt as well. If a matter of mere weeks separated from each other was tortuous eternity, then she did not want to risk the chance of him somehow being lost to her – or she to him. All in attendance had appeared happy for them both; in fact, those who knew them well seemed not a bit surprised by their attachment. Killian's concerns about birthrights and hierarchy (which he had voiced in the few scattered moments they'd had alone since his return) were legitimate, but they no longer mattered – not above what was truly important. They belonged together, and Emma would challenge anyone who suggested otherwise.

And so it was that she caught him in the garden where he always walked and took in the sunrise, as if he needed to see the light on the water, the beloved ocean that was so much a part of him and his brother both, before his day could truly begin. Emma smiled fondly at her first sight of Killian in the glow of the rising sun, her eyes tracing affectionately observed features that might once have been fodder for childish jest but were now treasured details she fancied only she could fully appreciate. From the tips of his slightly pointed, almost elvish ears – if the illustrations in her childhood picture books were to be believed – which flushed red when he was flustered or embarrassed, all the way down to his toes, already encased in the smart, properly shined boots of his naval uniform, her lieutenant made quite the picture in the early light. Emma's heart beat faster just looking on him for those few private moments unobserved before clearing her throat to gently announce her presence and stepping closer.

The fact that she was still in her delicate, blush rose-colored nightgown, long enough to skim the top of her feet and brush the dewy grass, but still thin and more revealing of her shoulders, arms, and décolletage than was deemed appropriate for her usual public wear, clearly did not escape her gallant young officer, even if she had hastily thrown a matching satiny dressing gown on over it before running to catch him when she spotted him in the gardens from her window above. Killian's bright eyes widened almost comically, and he visibly swallowed hard as he turned to see her drawing near him. For all of her sailor's adventures, and his experiences which she as crown princess could not partake in for fear of any harm coming to the kingdom's sole heir, and despite the no doubt bawdy company he must keep on a ship full of older, seasoned naval men, Killian retained an almost boyish sense of decent propriety – if not the total naiveté of his youth.

His sense of honor and desire to treat her with such charmed Emma even as it sometimes exasperated her feminine curiosity and desire to learn him in body as she knew him in spirit and heart. Sometimes she had to tease him – just a bit – for her own sanity, as well as for his good. Their future union needed to be on equal footing; she simply couldn't stand for him to bow down to her or treat her like a porcelain doll for the rest of their days, no matter how sweetly it was meant. And today was one of those times.

Ignoring the red flush high on his cheeks and even up to the tips of his ears, not to mention his awkwardly averted eyes, Emma grinned, happy to be close to him and feel his inviting warmth as she took Killian's strong, calloused hands and threaded their fingers together where their hands hung between them. "Good morning, Sailor," she greeted huskily, trying to pull him a bit closer still by their joined grip, even as she rose up on her tiptoes, angling for a quick kiss from those perfect, full lips of his.

Caught between stealing furtive but impossible to resist glances at her fair, soft skin on display and the womanly, lush curves his best friend had enticingly developed and was now using against him, and steadfastly avoiding such an improper gaze, Killian huffed out a frustrated breath as she swayed closer still. Emma was a vision to behold her in the first dawning rays of the sun, and she somehow smelt so sweet and fresh, like apples and rose petals in spring air, that she made his head spin dizzily. "Emma…" he gritted out in warning, striving to hold back before she caused him to throw all caution to the wind.

Pouting, she fell back onto her heels flat-footed once again and looked up at him with consternation. "Are you not even going to wish me a good morning in return?" she asked.

And though he knew he was playing right into her hands and weakening his own resolve, which was clearly serving for them both, Killian couldn't stand the tiny sliver of hurt, and the hint of self-doubt, he glimpsed in her eyes beyond the playful teasing. Never for a second would he have his princess think he didn't want her, desire her, and wish to hold her. He only meant to treat her as she deserved and to respect her as the future sovereign she was – whether his stubborn little minx liked it or not – as well as the woman he loved. Plus, he did not wish to betray the kindness her parents had shown him and the trust they placed in him; especially not when he hoped to make his suit for Emma's hand.

Even so, he bent slightly to press his chaste lips first reverently to peck her forehead, then playfully on the tip of her pert nose, and finally, with utmost tenderness, to her lips, conveying his ardent feelings while fighting to remain brief and correct. "Of course," he murmured lowly, between his mouth's contacts with her skin, "Good morning, my Love."

Emma was having none of his gentle restraint. When their lips touched, she wrapped her arms around his neck and reached her tiptoes again to keep him close. Soon their mouths drank from each other, the sparks zinging between them wildly, and neither of them were able to draw back or pull away from the heated dance until they had to in order to breathe.

Leaning his forehead against hers, Killian smiled in affectionate acquiescence, admitting his defeat as he searched her sparkling gaze, almost panting at the breath and sense she had stolen. Shaking his head at his own weakness where she was concerned, and at the look of impish pride she was now leveling his way, Killian brought the back of her hand up to his trembling lips and bestowed a courtly kiss there as well. "That _was_ a good morning wish," he affirmed a mite breathlessly, making Emma all the more pleased, then gathering his senses he plowed on before he lost his nerve or she managed to distract him once more. "But Love, what are you doing down here this early – and in…well, in your nightclothes yet? I don't think the appearance of me making free with your favors is the best way to prepare your parents for our request…" He trailed off here, head bowing to study where his thumb smoothed tenderly over her hand that he still clutched, and wet his lips a bit nervously before raising his eyes to meet hers again, peering through the dark fringe of hair that fell more rakishly than he realized across his forehead. "Or…do you not… Do you still wish to speak to your parents today?" he asked, hopeful but almost uncertain.

Emma could see that her sailor was trying for all the world to appear stoic, ready to bear the news calmly, without pressure or fuss, if she had changed her mind. As if she could ever not want him! Did he think she would simply replace him with an inflated, effeminate peacock of a prince, merely because of money or family name? None held a candle to him in her heart, but in moments like this, though he tried to believe her words assuring him so, Emma could see the orphaned young kitchen boy – a handsome and decorated naval officer now, but also to his own mind still a commoner without wealth or holdings to recommend him, whose own father had left him behind.

Poking a sharp finger into his chest and scowling at his question, Emma lowered her voice but drew closer again as well, grasping his hand tightly to her chest as she spoke all the more fervently. "Of course I do! You know I do. I only wanted to see you for just a moment alone first. And I knew you would be here."

He nodded, a breath releasing from his chest at her answer; relieved more than he wanted to admit. It was not that he doubted her honesty, but he was always afraid that she would wake and see the better options all around her; thus ending this dream of his: the most beautiful girl, the other half of his heart, the princess herself, loving him.

"Good then," she affirmed determinedly, her chin jutting out as she studied him carefully, making sure he really understood. A pretty little smile curled her perfect mouth up at the corners as she grinned at him so brightly he swore the morning sun must be reflected in her eyes.

"Aye, perfect," he replied as confidently as he could muster. It still seemed horribly, ridiculously presumptuous to stand before the King and Queen and present himself as a viable suitor, but he would do anything to make Emma gaze up at him the way she was doing in that moment. Smiling gently back, more enamored with every second, Killian brushed a silky strand of her golden hair back over her shoulder, marveling that he was the one who got to hold her close; that she had chosen to spend her life with him. He would always strive to be the man of honor she could be proud to call hers.

~~~00~~~~00~~~

Killian was in fact he only one truly surprised as the two of them left her parents' throne room arm-in-arm some three hours later, once breakfast had ended, they had waited a respectable interval, and then approached the King and Queen before they began to see their subjects bringing concerns and requests for the day. He had barely gotten through kneeling to greet his rulers properly and cleared his throat to begin when Snow was down off the raised dais where their large seats rested next to each other, urging him up with a motherly smile and telling him how glad they were to have him back safely and patting his arm encouragingly. She gave Emma a rather curiously knowing look and squeezed her daughter's hand briefly, but had turned to regain her throne when Killian swallowed hard and gathered his courage to make his request.

The flabbergasting surprises had not ended there. As he had managed to explain the attachment he and Emma had formed, the vow he had made to always serve and protect her, and finally explained that he was seeking their blessing to marry her, he had not prepared himself for the merry look of absolute delight or the gentle peals of laughter from Snow White, nor Charming's humored, indulgent smirk before he gave his answer. While he had not expected outright anger or recrimination, he had believed it would give the monarchs pause – or at least a bit of a surprise. He glanced at Emma, confused, only to find her looking up at him with knowing in her green gaze and a smirk on her lips. "I told you they would be pleased," she whispered conspiratorially as she gripped his hand.

Charming stepped down from his seat just as his wife had and came to stand before the two of them – his beloved daughter and this young man he had watched grow from youth into the gallant and worthy (if anyone could be worthy of his princess) suitor who stood before him. Shaking Killian's hand, he clapped the lieutenant on his shoulder heartily, deep laughter booming from his throat. "Don't look so shocked, Jones! We knew this day was coming!"

Killian couldn't help the sputtered response that left him, "You did?"

When both King and Queen nodded, he broke into a relieved smile and shook his head, stunned, "And you genuinely do not see me as overreaching my place? I am no one… and you are the royal family."

"And I was a poor, simple shepherd," Emma's father stated bluntly. "I would have very little room to disapprove on those grounds! This kingdom is not the one which will ignore what love – what the heart – wants."

Snow hugged them both enthusiastically. "We think so much of you, Killian. You have taken the small leg up we offered to you years ago and made an admirable name for yourself, and through your own hard work, diligence, and skill, not because of a title you were born with or the favors curried by rich or high-standing relations. Now you will be part of our family in name too, as well as spirit. Emma could not have brought anyone to us who would have made us more pleased – or who could possibly know her better."

~~~000~~~~000~~~

So they were betrothed and to be married in September. The following week brought a celebration for their engagement along with the one already occurring to mark the advent of a New Year. Their intentions had been announced to the kingdom with joyous fanfare – both the gathered nobles and neighboring monarchs, and their closer friends and staff. Emma had pressed for the nuptials to be sooner, but it was Killian who had reminded her that his ship had another voyage to complete before then, and that the duration of the journey was as yet uncertain. It was better to allow plenty of time for their return, rather than not enough. Snow had seconded his sentiment and finalized the decision when she pressed that she also needed enough time to make all the preparations necessary to host a ceremony fit for her only daughter, her princess.

Emma couldn't help the eye roll she gave at that statement; she didn't need some fussy royal hoopla (nor did she want her mother to be able to stuff her into some poufy confection of a gown). She would happily be married with Killian's brother and crew, her family, and a few friends on the deck of his ship if it saw them wed sooner and meant that perhaps she could go with him and see the realm rather than being separated again so soon.

Still, she knew this was one area where she couldn't win. Killian would not want her to miss the sort of lavish occasion he saw as her birthright and would be convinced she'd regret missing. Plus, she hated to disappoint her beloved mother when both her parents had made her so happy in their blessing and had been so accepting of Killian. She acquiesced without too much actual fight in the end; more than anything glad that they would now be officially recognized. Others would know she was spoken for, and she would no longer have to dance with every prince who requested her attention and smile politely while they talked themselves up and by-and-large ignored what she might think or feel. Killian could now be confident he was the one for her, and that their union would not be denied. She knew he was a better man than most of the stuffed shirts she'd had to play nice with over the last few years; he had never made her feel as if she would be simply an ornament for his arm or a possession he could boast of owning, nor as if she were merely a pawn to grant his kingdom power. Now she hoped her lieutenant would also believe what she had already known.

As the fete wound down, and the mass of partygoers began to make their way to the large balcony for the midnight final hurrah, Emma took Killian's hand, the glint of a secret in her emerald gaze as she pulled him off in another direction. Soon, they were alone in the palace corridors, separated from the many dignitaries and guests and their curious, prying eyes. She was leading him through one of their old secret passageways, Killian realized; one they had used often as children to escape Gepetto, Nova, or whomever had been their chaperone for the day, but he had forgotten about it in the ensuing years. Knowing that eventually this course led its winding way up to the second floor and came out near her personal quarters, his pulse lunged to somewhere in his throat; mouth going dry with both excitement and a sort of nervous anticipation of what tempting idea she might have in her mind.

Sure enough, they were soon in the quiet hall outside Emma's private bedchamber. There was a hidden alcove with an outer window where Killian could see the fireworks display in honor of their betrothal and the new year's beginning going on without them in bursts of gold, scarlet, and azure splendor against the dark sky; even if the pop and crash, the whistle of the louder rockets, was muffled by distance, a floor removed, and the solid glass panes and stone walls. Though the display was magnificent, and he felt at least somewhat beholden to the King and Queen to enjoy the extravagant offering, Killian was happy to be alone with his love any moment he could get, if that was what Emma wished.

Both of them had turned in curious enjoyment to stare out at the bright spectacle blazing across the heavens in their honor, but the very second Emma turned back to gaze at him with sparkling eyes, she arrested his attention completely. She had not yet released his hand; their fingers were still laced together comfortably, and she urged him on with a gentle tug of their joined hands until they stood together outside her door.

Leaning back against the solid oak barrier, Emma grinned up at him with a devious glimmer in her verdant gaze, biting her lower lip as she did so, and conveying just the sort of trouble she had in mind. "Do you wish to come in for a bit, Lieutenant?" she asked coyly, even batting her lashes at him like a coquette, when she was quite aware he could barely keep his hands off of her in the most innocent situations.

"Oh aye," he nodded rapidly, smirking back at her even as a flush climbed his neck and across his face. "But I don't think that would be wise, Love. As you well know…" he trailed off there, instead lifting their joined hands to slowly and deliberately caress each of her knuckles with his lips, seductively just barely allowing his tongue to come into play, his gaze darkening as it refused to let hers go for even a second, fighting her fire with all the ammunition he could muster. Heavens knew it took all the strength within him not to simply agree and follow her through that door into pure bliss, to hold her in his arms all night without having to let go or take his leave until the morning. If he had thought she was tempting before…

By the time he her hand and straightened up again, Killian wasn't sure which one of them was more off-balance. Emma's perfect, soft lips were parted slightly, as if trying to take in a bit more lost breath, and she barely nodded dazedly at the words he had spoken. No longer was she teasing him, but almost stunned instead, looking as if she were nearly as entranced and overwhelmed as she quite often left him.

"Mhmm," she hummed softly in her throat, gazing at him so fondly it seemed that the lighted rockets and sparks from outside the window were glistening in her eyes. "I know you are right," Emma agreed ruefully, nodding her head at his reluctant wisdom. Then she paused, something sweet and wistful on her face, as young and innocent as she had been tentatively seductive only a minute before. She drew in a steadying breath and slowly turned away as she opened the door at her back. "But soon…"

He nodded back, still holding her gaze and hoping that his true feelings shone clear for her to see. "Indeed, my Emma…soon."

"Well then," and her voice was almost a whisper as she stepped through the open doorway, "goodnight for now, Killian. I love you."

The brightness of his smile at her heartfelt words put any of the fireworks still erupting outside to shame. He couldn't take his eyes off her even as he began to back away and take his leave. She was his betrothed at last; soon they would be husband and wife. In a few more months, they would wish each other goodnight from across their pillows while lying in the same bed, falling asleep and waking up together rather than having to part at day's end. "And I love you, my Heart," he whispered fervently as he bid her adieu. "Now and for the rest of our lives."


	3. Part III: Hearts Grow Fonder

A Year in the Court of Misthaven

 _Part III: "Hearts Grow Fonder"_

 _Here we are again! This third installment of my not-so-little anymore Lieutenant Duckling verse took a lot longer than I expected, but I hope that will be at least somewhat compensated for by its length. I apologize in advance for the angst that you may not have been expecting in this particular series, but the muse wouldn't take 'no' for an answer! I will encourage that it is just a single part of a whole story though…_

 _Please enjoy! I still don't own them, but I would LOVE to hear what you think!_

Another month and a half found Princess Emma of Misthaven feeling much less hopeful about the passage of time and just how patiently she could wait to have Killian all to herself – her husband at last. One day after the Feast of St. Valentine, and the evening would see her lieutenant fiancé, along with the rest of the crew on his assigned vessel, heading out to sea once more. She had known their mission, and this separation, was coming, but that did not make her any less gloomy or any more relieved of her fears over all that could befall him, all that could easily go wrong and destroy their happiness.

They had agreed to meet in the garden once again; it had become a private haven of sorts for them in the time since their engagement. Of course they did already have more time together now that their attachment was known publicly, but still, when they wished to be truly alone – to speak privately or to steal the kisses and soft caresses that could not be indulged in view of others – they retired to this spot that had always been Killian's, and which he now shared with his love gladly.

Wrapped tightly in Killian's strong arms, her head pillowed on his uniformed chest, Emma pressed herself so closely to him that one of the shining brass buttons of his jacket made an indent on her cheek. The sun beat down brightly, oblivious to her turmoil, reflecting off the snow on the ground with dazzling effect and causing her to shiver even beyond the tremors of foreboding which had coursed up and down her spine all that day long.

Killian chafed his hands gently up and down her arms over the long, belled sleeves of her dress, sensing that she was cold and instinctively taking care of her. Bending his head to press his face to her hair, so sweet-smelling and soft, he murmured against the crown of her head, "Love, you're freezing. Please, let's go indoors before you take ill."

Emma mumbled her dissent softly however, nestling closer into his arms and shaking her head stubbornly. She was cold of course, but she wasn't yet ready to give up her last few private moments with her sailor for a month, two months, or perhaps even longer. Even a peaceful diplomatic or exploratory mission, such as the one Killian's ship was embarking on, came with certain dangers – and they took time. He couldn't be in easy communication with her, nor she with him, and Emma knew from past experience that she missed his gentle, deep voice encouraging, teasing, or sometimes enflaming her, every bit as much, if not more, than she did the feel of his calloused palms against the skin of her softer hands, the insistent press of his lips to hers, and the subtle spicy scent of his aftershave, used in his cabin on the ship or chamber in the castle before he came to her in the early mornings, tingling in her nose and enticing her to smile at the warm, intoxicating aroma which was all his own.

What she said couldn't have been fully intelligible, but – as was his way – Killian seemed to understand her regardless. "Aye, my Love, I do know what you mean," he nodded before gently turning her toward the castle and holding out his arm smartly for her to take, so he could escort her to the farewell luncheon her parents had prepared for those sailors embarking on this peacekeeping voyage. Emma noticed that he did not begin to move away without casting back a final, wistful look at their secret bower, despite his positive and confident manner, and so – even before he continued to speak – she offered a gentle press of comfort to his arm where her hand rested, knowing that he hated to go as much as she dreaded seeing him leave. "The time without you does seem interminable now, at the outset, to me as well," he states plainly, not leaving any room in her mind for doubt of his feelings. "No matter how much I adore being on the open sea, and how honored I am to be on such an important mission, one of those chosen to take this final trade agreement for signing with such an important ally, that pales in comparison to seeing your sweet face each morning, knowing it will be months before I gaze upon your beatific smile and glimpse the pretty sparkle of your eyes when first we meet. You do know that though I seek to ease your mind, Princess, and to assure you that I will return before you know it, I am equally loath to depart from your side, do you not?"

Emma nodded, looking up at him with rapt, dazed attention, as if watching the way his perfect lips moved to form his pretty words could help her memorize his voice, his gentle care, and the lilting way near-poetry seemed to trip from his silver tongue. She pressed her lips together against another rise of gathering tears, the burning behind her eyes giving early warning. Blinking rapidly, Emma shook her head, both against the ridiculous overflow of emotion and at the realization that even after years of sitting in on innumerable council meetings, and watching her parents in action, she would never be as persuasive or charming a speaker as her intended was by his very nature. He would certainly be an asset to have at her side in the many trials she would someday face as queen in her own right. What many on the outside might not see; the countless foreign nobles and other kingdom's princes who thought Killian had merely gotten lucky – that his handsome face had bought him a lift up several rungs of the political and social ladder – did not know was the real truth that Emma recognized all too well; the part that people on the outside could never understand, that Killian was the perfect (and _only_ ) helpmate for her, one that no sheltered, pedigreed fellow royal could hope to be. She might be the princess, but he steadied her and gave her strength, could look and listen closely in a way that allowed him insight into the heart of things. Someday she would take the throne – like it or not, terrifying as it was to consider trying to fill footsteps as celebrated and successful as Snow White and Prince Charming's – and people would see her beneficent smiles and hear her pretty words, but she could almost guarantee that the one who would craft them behind the scenes would be her eloquent, smooth-talking sailor; the support and inspiration who always had and always would help her stand tall, whatever she might face. His faith in her never wavered, even when she doubted herself, and his encouragement helped to make her the princess that she was.

By now, they had left the dewy grass and misty morning air, stepping back into the castle's second floor through French doors on the nursery (once Emma's, years ago) and making their way across the thick carpeting to the main hall, which would take them down to the stateroom where the farewell breakfast was being served. Emma didn't wish to make Killian late, knowing the eager, proper young lieutenant in him could hardly abide such tardiness, not to mention running the risk of disappointing, nor looking anything less than competent, to his superiors – or her father, if he were to be completely honest. Emma could almost giggle at how adorably sweet, earnest, and eager to please, her fiancé was, and how anxious he was to be absolutely all he could possibly be in service of her kingdom, her family, and his calling. Almost unconsciously, Emma's feet shuffled to a standstill once again, hand clutching his strong, steadfast arm more tightly on reflex, and gazing up at him, awestruck at this realization all over again. She could not have found a better, more honorable man in all the realm – she _knew_ this – and though that honorable sense of duty was taking him away from her, she also knew he would not fully be the man she loved so completely without that piece of who he was.

Her halted motion brought Killian to a stop as well, causing him to turn and peer down into her face with curious concern. "Alright there, Lass?" he questioned gently, his hand coming up to cup her cheek as he searched her eyes.

Drawing in a fluttery breath, Emma merely nodded, speechless, not sure how to put into words all that she was feeling in the moment – how much she loves him, how happy he has made her, how nervous for him to leave her, but also how grateful that he is a man of his word, fearless and true. Licking her lips, she nodded more emphatically and tried to gather herself to speak, savoring the feel of his warm hand cradling the side of her face, and even tilting her head to lean into his palm. Closing her eyes for just one more moment, as if she could freeze the second caught between them – capture it to be pulled out and held close for the difficult months of missing him ahead. Humming ever so softly in her throat, Emma opened her eyes once more, lashes fluttering as she gazed up at him breathlessly, the mix of butterflies and warm awe and genuine affection still about to bowl her over in a way she prayed would never fade. "You know that I understand… don't you, Killian?" she finally manages, her voice a bit soft, but needing to be sure, what with the moments rushing by and her emotions swelling, that she has told him what lay in her heart. "No, I would rather you did not have to go, but I do see why you must. I love your honesty and commitment – your honor – just as I do every other part of you."

Killian blinked, somewhat startled by her fervent words, closing his own eyes for a moment to bring his reaction better under control. "Thank you, Emma," he finally whispered, bending his head just slightly to rest his forehead against her own, drinking up the intimate connection they share, the sensation of her touch, every bit as much as she had been attempting to do with his.

Then he moved lower, dipping his head to sweep in and kiss her in a way that almost literally knocked her world off-kilter, her knees buckling and causing her to slump into his arms, clinging to his shoulders to stay upright, a surprised gasp in her throat all that escaped before any other noise was captured by his mouth on hers. Killian's hand had not moved from the side of her face, but it slid a bit lower to caress her neck with cleverly devious fingers while his thumb stroked maddeningly along the hollow of her throat.

Emma's head was spinning, so overcome by the sort of kiss Killian had not initiated before, instead usually endeavoring to ease her back to more sedate caresses and brushes of lips and tongue. The way he possessed her now, sweeping into her mouth and holding all the control – be she the Crown Princess or not – made her insides melt to pure flame, and she ached to climb inside him, press so close that they simply melded into one being, never having to separate again. His free arm pressed tightly to her lower back, thankfully holding her up where it wrapped around her, but also pulling their entire bodies so close together that she had no doubt about his need and desire, his desperation for them to be one, no less devastating than her own.

The luncheon in fact might have gone completely forgotten, Killian remaining in her arms until his ship put into the harbor, if her godmother Ruby had not bustled around the corner into the hall where they stood just then, clearing her throat pointedly to inform them that they had company, even as a mischievous, and almost pleased, twinkle sparkled in her deep brown eyes.

"Come on, Princess," she said glibly, pretending not to notice the way Killian touched his hand to his lips, his blue eyes dazed and faraway, nor how shaky Emma was on her feet, chest heaving for several seconds as she tried to catch her breath. "Enough loitering in the shadows with handsome lieutenants," she teased with a smirk, taking Emma's hand and pulling her along back the way she had come, just as she has since Emma was small and she had been sent to fetch her from the yard or fields where she and Killian were playing in order to the study for her lessons. Sending a wink back over her shoulder at a blushing Killian, Ruby added, "You might want to get on downstairs, Jones. Several of your fellow officers have been asking after you."

Killian nodded, giving them both a little bow and moving somewhat stiffly for the stairs. Ruby chuckled and peered back at Emma knowingly, seeing that the young woman she helped to raise had yet to stop staring transfixed after the departing form of her sailor.

"Not that I blame you," Ruby remarked, "but you might want to straighten yourself up a bit." She raised a shapely brow at Emma with her words. "Your mom wants to see that you're ready and talk to you a moment before the meal."

Emma dipped her head lightly, trying to bring her breath back under control, despite the way her pulse was still _racing_ through her veins. Right, her mother – _the Queen –_ might not want to her to look like she had just been plundered by a pirate instead of bid farewell by a sedate naval lieutenant. Still, the secretive smile that would not leave her lips threatened to give it all away, and she could hardly find it in her to mind. After all, if that was the embrace which to hold her whilst they are apart, then Killian had certainly given her a farewell equal to the challenge.

Though Emma could not in good conscience say she was happy to see the sails of the ship his older brother captained, that her lieutenant served on and navigated gladly, slip over the waves away from her that evening, growing smaller and smaller to her watching eyes as she tracked its progress toward the blazing sunset horizon, Emma somehow held a sense of acceptance that she hadn't before. Oh, she would still miss him – he has truly become the other half of her heart – her chest already ached with the absence and the pained look in his blue eyes as he had kissed her once more; a chaste press of their lips, as they were not alone on the royal docks, and a lingering caress to her forehead as well. He had still been fond, gentle, and beseeching her to remember just how cherished she was to him. Then, he had turned to move up the gangway to the deck of the ship, and she had forced herself to stay standing – not follow him aboard, but to see him off proudly as she had come to do.

When finally the ship's hull became a mere faraway dot in the distance, barely able to be seen in the twilight's gathering shadows, Emma turned to follow the path her parents and the other assembled nobles, advisors, and staff had taken, wending their way slightly back up the hill which housed their castle – a silent, proud sentinel overlooking the harbor and small village at its feet. The crowd gathered to see the royal vessel off had long since dispersed, but the princess felt no fear of being alone as she started her trek back home. The evening dark might well be gathering closer, but she had never registered much fear in the peaceful kingdom where her mother and father, and by extension herself, were almost universally admired. She had not known the tense, anxious days just before her birth when all around them waited the Dark Curse her evil step grandmother Regina had planned, which for some unknown reason had never been unleashed. Beyond that, she was confident and brave by nature, and her father had taught her well, both in swordplay and other manners of closer, more hand-to-hand self-defense; she could feel the comforting presence of the knife that lay along her calf in the custom ankle holster hidden beneath her long skirts, a cooling reassurance should any trouble truly arise.

As if all those were not enough to make her feel safe, Emma doubted that she had been truly alone since leaving the castle, though she saw no sign of accompaniment. Ruby or Graham, her mother's sworn bodyguard, once Regina's captive Huntsman and now avowed protector of her mother, father, and Emma herself in gratitude for his salvation from an awful fate – and quite possibly both of them – almost undoubtedly followed her back to the palace invisibly. Both were able to move through the trees beside the path and with the gathering dusk as silently as shadows themselves. Emma smiled wryly at the thought of her godmother's fiercely protective streak – especially when it came to her best friend's only child. It was little known beyond Ruby's own granny, who runs the royal kitchens, and Emma's small family and their innermost circle of advisors: her dwarf 'uncles', Jiminy Cricket, Geppetto, Nova, and Graham himself, but Ruby is a born werewolf. Emma could not usually forget it; for one, once one knew the truth, many of her godmother's mannerisms and expressions came off as quite lupine indeed, and also because she quite often felt treated like a favored if unruly pup, particularly if she got herself into any sort of danger or trouble. Letting the soft smile she wore grow just a bit wider, Emma decided to herself that they were most likely both trailing her; lately she had begun to notice shy, stolen glances between the she-wolf and the man raised among her natural wild kin. Both linger in the kitchen at times, risking Granny's ire for getting in the way or sneaking scraps as if merely wanting to be near the other and watch when they can manage it without the other's being aware. Emma nearly snickered to herself a bit at the idea of each one pacing wary circles around the other, neither seeing that their advances would be welcomed, but instead tracking each other in a sense, gathering their courage.

Upon reaching the front gates at last, Emma smiled kindly at Bashful while he flushed when caught napping, bowed, and opened the portal to allow her entry to the castle keep, Emma turned once more, grinning with a mischief all her own to look into the woods at the side of the path behind her. "I'm here, safe and sound," she announced teasingly. "You can both come out now, and go back to whatever you would have been doing."

It took only a moment for Graham to seemingly materialize from the copse of trees and undergrowth to her left, looking sheepish and apologetic as he ran a hand through the messily curling mop of his hair and began to explain. "Begging your pardon, Princess, but your mother asked me to…"

"It is alright, Huntsman," she assured him gently, offering a slight dip of her chin, a tiny acknowledgement of her own. "I am not upset. Merely making sure you know you are free to go about your business now." She paused momentarily, briefly debating if she should speak her next words aloud or hold them back, but then her lips quirked playfully up, despite the solemn emotions she had weathered in the past few hours. "You too, Red!" she called into the moonlit night. "I know you're out there! Maybe the two of you should take a stroll together under the stars – with my blessing, of course!"

With that, she swung back around quickly; a flip of her blonde head before she disappeared through the gate, not giving either of her bodyguards a chance to protest. Ruby didn't show herself, but Emma heard, just before the door closed behind her, an either pleased or affronted sort of canine huff of breath and felt winking sharp eyes on her back.

 _'Oh yes,'_ she thought in satisfaction, her first letter to Killian would be telling him all about those two awkward lovebirds in their midst, and just how she might plot to help them along…

As it turned out, their letters to each other passed back and forth more quickly than Emma had dared to hope. Granted, there would not normally be a way to manage such correspondence at all with his ship a literal moving target somewhere between Misthaven and the Agrabahn sea; however, her mother's beloved and well-trained messenger birds made the feat of carrying missives between she and Killian the matter of only a day or two's flight.

Reading Killian's letter to her in that first month he was away, and then on into the second, Emma felt as though she came to know her fiancé all over again, learning secrets he had held so deeply she was sure he had never trusted them to another soul on earth. She found herself loosing her own heart's deepest dreams and wishes in corresponding honesty and depth, an openness that has never come easily to her, even – to an extent – with him. Somehow the fact that they were speaking through writing and over distance allowed Emma to spill the intensity and extent of her feelings like blood from her veins, the release almost a freeing relief and the connection that came with the admission bonding them more than she would previously have thought possible.

Emma often found the letters arriving in the early evening, gentle wings fluttering to her windowsill as the birds lit there gracefully, Killian's messages rolled neatly and affixed to their legs. Loosening the ties to pull the missives free, Emma could not help the smile which split her face, every time, creasing her cheeks into deep dimples of joy. Dutifully would she scatter a finger's pinch of seed and suet for her winged messengers and unfurl the page to read Killian's looping cursive script, the bold strokes sweeping over her senses and engendering excitement, even as the words themselves wound their way into her heart.

Though nothing could equal or replicate the feel of being held in Killian's embrace, his solid warmth and comfort, or the pleasing sensation of his pretty words for her reverberating through his chest and into hers, the rumbling feel of it passing through her body deliciously, Emma still found his ability to transmit the essence of his voice, his speech, and – most of all – his overwhelming devotion to paper and to her eyes almost miraculous. She struggled to manage the same, and hoped that he would never feel she came up short when her responses reached him wherever he might be at sea, but knew that as weeks, and a month, then two months passed, she had to have exchanged more words with her lieutenant than anyone else in her life… _ever_. She could not fail to sense them growing ever-closer, even as they were physically separated, and though Emma was fairly counting the days until she could expect to see those sails appearing on the horizon and to touch him again with her own two hands instead of merely running a finger over the words written by his own and pressing a lingering kiss to the letters of his name, there was a certain peace in the deepening of their understanding and commitment to each other; the knowledge that not even time, distance, or uncertainty could dim their flame nor dampen their love.

Summer soon came in full bloom – the days lengthening and temperatures warming as June slowly gave way to July. By then Killian had been out to sea more than four months, and though Emma felt she was making do quite well, all things considered, and had plenty of other duties, events, and diversions to bide her time and hold her attention from one day to the next, her love was always, _always_ , on her mind as well. Whether walking into town on market day with her mother and Red, or burning off steam, excess energy and frustration through sword training with her father, or trekking through the surrounding woods with Graham and his wolf brother, learning basic wilderness survival skills and occasionally taking the time to build a campfire and roast a much simpler supper than she would have sat through demurely back at the castle, Killian was there with her too, in her thoughts and in her heart. He never left her completely, and it took very little for a small, hidden smile to creepy over her lips upon imagining his encouraging words and advice at her ear if he were there while she and her father were sparring, or the twinkling in his eyes and the way he would wrap them both up in a blanket, cuddling together and sneaking kisses, as any campfire they would share would probably be in the moonlight where he could point out the stars to her.

Still, the constant yearning for his arms, the wondering where he might be, what he might be doing, and the new things he might be seeing and discovering did not turn to a true disrupting concern until late July, when his mostly regular letters abruptly ceased. Emma attempted to tell herself at first that it was merely because they were nearing the time for his return. Their voyage was almost at an end and things must be busier on his ship as they neared land once more, making sure all was secure and prepared to land and report. Their separation would soon be over at last, and knowing he will be speaking to her face-to-face before much more time elapsed, Killian must have put aside writing more letters for other necessary concerns.

She tried all kind of calming tactics to reason with herself, but in her heart, Emma knew that Killian would do no such thing. He would not let her wait and worry if it were in his control, and so just as his written words had soothed her, their sudden halt churned in her gut, warning her that something bad had almost surely happened. Even before the first of August arrived and went by once again, and others beyond herself took note of the ship's late return and the lack of news or contact, Emma grew exceedingly worried and tense. Scouting vessels began to venture out in hope of discovering the Jewel's fate, but they returned without a sign, only increasing her misgivings. As the time when she and her fiancé should have long been happily reunited and sunk into planning their Septembers vows came and went, Princess Emma instead strove desperately to ignore the whispers spreading throughout court that Killian's ship and its entire crew must have been lost – never to return.

As yet one more week crawled interminably by, fraught with constant anxiety and watching from her window, Emma took to lingering on the edges of her parents' council chambers, heart fit to pound from the confines of her chest with each messenger, each new arrival, hoping against hope that _this_ one surely would bear word of her sailor's fate. Her green eyes swam with stubbornly unshed tears as they unerringly sought her father's in those moments, and he met her gaze, his firm lips a thin line, pressed tightly in concern, both for his sailors and for his daughter. Yet, Emma could also read the truth upon his features, and as long as she did not see sadness and defeat along with the care and worry, she took a page from her mother's book and kept her faith alive.

It was not completely blind denial either; there were many reasons the ship could be out of range or sight and still not be in actual distress or need of rescue. It was possible that a message he sent to her had been lost on the way and not received. They simply did not know where he and the rest of the crew were at present. Emma persisted in telling herself any number of pretty fairy tales and comforting stories, but none of them could quite block out the whispered rumors and conjecture that followed her everywhere, nor the vexed and pitying glances that dogged her every step through the castle and the surrounding village.

All around the royal family – both servants and friends – knew of Princess Emma's fierce determination and fiery temperament well enough not to speak their doubts that the ship and its crew might not return safely, well aware that she would countenance no such negativity. Still, Emma was also neither oblivious nor dense; she knew the odds and just how very likely it was that some grave misfortune had wrecked her beloved's ship. She simply could not bear to accept the facts her intellect recognized all too well. There was no way she could fathom calmly enduring a life without the man she had meant to share it with, no way she would recover from Killian's loss, and so she clung tightly to the tendrils of hope she could gather around herself, praying that by some miracle he was yet making his return to Misthaven's shores, even as most counted him long gone.

Not until yet another week passed did her lady mother, Queen Snow, venture to meet with Emma in her chambers to delicately broach the topic of accepting what now seemed inevitable. The mission would at some point have to be declared a failure, and the sailors who had undertaken it given up for lost at sea. The raven-haired monarch, still every bit as graceful and lovely as she had been in her youth, if a bit more tempered by time and wisdom, hesitated at her daughter's threshold, not at all sure how to proceed with such a crushing task. She did not undertake to hurt her only child lightly; she herself could scarcely imagine what she would have felt in Emma's place if her True Love – her Charming – had been taken from her before their union had even begun. She sees the same bond and kindship between Emma and her steadfast sailor; in fact, with a mother's innate instincts, Snow had sensed it when the two were yet children running about the castle gardens in the summer sun, and she dreaded what the wound might do to her daughter's heart.

Still, they were royals. Certain duties fell to them, whatever their personal pain or desires, and certain customs must be carried out. There was a whole ship full of men missing, and at some point the tragedy must be acknowledged – both so that their sacrifice could be properly honored, and so that their survivors were able to seek what recompense was due them, though the aid would certainly not bring their loved ones back.

Knocking gently on the oaken portal to her daughter's chamber, Snow awaited Emma's word of welcome, then let herself inside. She found Emma sitting at the vanity desk pushed against the far wall, idly running a brush through her long blond hair, though clearly not giving the action much thought, as she was simply gazing out the window at her left – the one that looked down upon the harbor. It was exactly where Snow had expected to find her, knowing that Emma had been spending the few uncluttered hours in her days alone – either here or in the guard tower with her "uncle" Dopey (who never pestered her with idle conversation; they had always had a silent understanding all their own, her tight-lipped, no-nonsense daughter and the nonverbal one of all Snow's adopted dwarf 'brothers') where she could search over the water to the distant horizon line, watching for the sails she was hoping against all hope to finally see appear.

Crossing on silent feet to stand behind her only child, Snow lay a gentle hand on the tensely held shoulder and took the brush from Emma's lax grip, taking over her daughter's mindless task with easy skill. As she pulled the brush through silky, golden strands, she was taken back to all the times she had styled Emma's hair herself when Emma was younger, a remembered comfort in the process that she hoped might carry over to her princess – though she is all grown up now.

The queen felt as much as heard the sigh her daughter let out, either in relief or defeated acceptance, Snow was not yet sure. The thin shoulders within the soft, lace-adorned ivory dressing gown – which had been held so rigid – slumped slightly along with the release of her spine which Emma had been holding ramrod straight in her seat. Reaching back, she caught her mother's hand in her own, nuzzling that warm, caring palm against her cheek a moment before whispering, barely audibly, "I know we must make the announcement soon, Mama. I _do_ understand. But please, can we…" she swallowed reflexively, but finished with brave determination, "Can we wait until week's end at least?" Emma made the request of her mother with naked urgency, turning eyes that swam with unshed tears, but yet some lingering hope, up to her mother's face. "I realize that we cannot put it off inevitably, but I also cannot quite convince myself yet that Killian is truly lost. If he were gone from this world…forever…would I not sense it somehow? Feel the void in my own heart?"

Looking down up on her child's earnest face, Snow White honestly couldn't argue with such reasoning. She knew of the tie she had always felt between herself and Charming, like an invisible tether in both of their chests connecting them no matter how far apart. She had heard David relate more than once what crippling pain he felt in his heart – pain that brought him to his knees in Regina's dungeons – at the moment in which she had succumbed to the poisoned apple, her fate immediately made known to him through some bond beyond natural explanation. Pressing her lips together in thought and natural maternal concern, Snow finally nodded her acceptance of Emma's appeal, compassion brimming in her own wide gaze. It was not a difficult plea to grant in her place, as a mother who would give her only daughter anything she was able to assure her happiness, as well as being one who knows and daily experiences True Love. In the seeming answer to all of her loving prayers, her little girl – now a woman in her own right – had found a True Love of her own, and Snow knew all too well that she could not give up hope for him. Emma would never be the same if Killian has been taken from her life so soon; if such a strong, irreplaceable bond has indeed been severed by death, her child, Misthaven's princess, would live, she would survive, soldier on, take her place in the world and serve her family and kingdom well, but a certain amount of her inner light would be forever dimmed. She would carry inside her a gaping hole ripped open with pain that could not be filled or healed. As both her monarch, and ever more so as her mother, Queen Snow would gladly grant just a few more days' faith that Fate would not be so unkind. The hope that her sweet, brave, soon-to-be son-in-law and his crew might yet find their way home, however long the odds, the only gift she has left to offer Emma, so for a few more days – she would do so.

Snow reached out to press her daughter's hand within her own, their fingers twining in a hold that she hoped might offer her princess at least some comfort. Emma is all that the heir apparent should be – smart, prepared, poised and determined, dedicated to those she loves and her people as a whole. The queen is frightfully proud of her – and yet, Emma is also still young, still at the outset of her life, and her mother – monarch, ruler, one who has been trained to face and handle _anything_ – fears that if her child must weather such a crushing loss, so early in her reign, with so much life yet to live, Emma might well be buried under the weight of it. While Crown Princess Emma would yet reign over Misthaven, the color and life, the happiness and reward of the duty would be drained from it, leaving her sapped of all that gave living its worth.

Their eyes met over their clasped hands, both green and beguiling, wide and luminous and almost reading each other's thoughts. The Queen feared for a moment that her misgivings had indeed been broadcast, but after several agonizing seconds, Emma bowed her head in a gentle show of agreement, the tiniest of smiles curving her lips, her thick, dark lashes blinking, and Snow saw that her daughter had thankfully taken only the hope and strength, the best wishes she had intended to impart; the joining of hands between them at least a bit of healing.

Then they were alerted by the sound of running feet, mere moments before a guard in all his clanking armor arrived down the long upstairs corridor within the open doorway to Emma's chambers. "Sails spotted on the horizon, Milady!" he announced with breathless excitement. "One of our ships, by the looks of it, and coming fast!" He bowed before making a swift exit after the Queen's acknowledgement of his news, but Emma hardly heard or registered his noisy retreat; she had already turned with frantic anticipation to the window once more. She had ceased her near-constant vigil to talk with her mother, but now her trembling hand clutched the frame, eyes straining once more for some sign that this was Killian at last returning to her.

Mere heartbeats pounding later, she let out a startled gasp of exclamation, breaking the waiting silence which had fallen in the room. With a quick, distracted swipe at the voluminous skirts in her way, Emma was on her feet and darting from the room, the words, "It's his ship! It's the Jewel…" rasping from nervous lips as she brushed past her mother, breaking into as fast a run as the corset, lace, and layers of material would allow toward the stairs – not sparing another glance or moment's hesitation.

The Queen looked after her adult daughter quietly, hoping for all involved that it was indeed a celebration which would follow this sudden turn of events. Biting her lip thoughtfully, Snow White turned back to the window a moment more, studying the oncoming vessel with furrowed brow. It drew nearer with decent speed, but as it came ever closer, it clearly listed to the side – as if limping slightly to its finish line, pressing homeward on injured last legs. Concern swept over the benevolent sovereign as she stood to follow Emma's path to the harbor. She must find Charming and make for the docks herself with all haste, come whatever they might find, even if dread weighed heavily in her stomach – both for her daughter and for them all…

Emma was robbed of nearly all her breath by the time she reached the end of the docks. She leaned on one of the tall wooden supports, panting, chest heaving, having barely slowed since she left her rooms, so anxious was she to greet her lieutenant once more. Her quick emerald eyes scanned the almost empty deck as the Jewel slid into a berth; only now taking in scorch marks which scored the vessel's hull along with patched holes, and other frightening signs of damage that were not visible upon first view.

Her heart rose up in her narrowing throat, until it felt as though it might leap out of her mouth and escape her body. _'No, not now,'_ she thought frantically. _'They have finally returned. He must be with them. Where is he?!"_ She could not tear her eyes away as slowly, all too slowly, bandaged and bedraggled sailors began to emerge from below deck, taking the necessary measures to dock and secure the ship, and then slowly made for the gangway.

Then, like some vision emerging from the midst of a deep fog, Killian stood by the mast. He appeared before her startled, ravenous sight almost like magic, the only thing she had ached to see for far too long.

He turned then, away from the horizon he had been studying and toward the docks. His sharp gaze found her without fail and captured her on impact, stealing her barely reclaimed breath. Though those crystal blue orbs warmed, clearly relieved and aching to draw her in, there was something shaded hidden in their depths as well; a distance she had never seen in them before.

" _Killian…"_ she mouthed soundlessly, a tremulous smile wavering over her lips, tears starting in her eyes as she began to push forward through the gathered mass around her, hardly daring to believe he was finally there before her once more, and needing to touch and pull him close to be certain her vision could be trusted.

His gaze fell away from hers though, before she could reach him; almost as if shamed by her reaction of joyous welcome and hoping to hide himself away. Something pained and haunted painted every line of his once proud uniformed frame, though Emma was still so overwhelmed by his mere presence – alive and home – that it seemed for a moment as though he had never appeared more beautiful to her eyes. She couldn't comprehend his seeming hesitance, and her pulse stuttered, mind racing to understand. It was only then that Emma's gaze swept beyond Killian's beloved face, over the rest of him, and took in the somewhat tattered and singed jacket and breaches he always kept pristine, his stiff, pained movement as he finally stepped toward the gangplank and the careful way he turned to avoid any contact with his left arm cradled in a makeshift sling.

She had only just managed to register that something was truly very wrong, when her eyes reached the end of his wounded arm to find that his hand was gone.


End file.
